Flying Like A Rock
by crescendoesque
Summary: Minerva McGonagall was not present in the Department of Mysteries. However, her understanding of the death is just as painful as everyone elses. Three parter, spoilers for OotP.
1. Chapter 1

1I was not present the day Sirius Black was murdered. I, instead, was sleeping quite soundly upon a bed surrounded by an endless row of other beds at St. Mungo's. Being in my condition, I was barely aware of the usual hospital happenings- the bustling of nurses and frequent check-ups by Healers – let alone the outside world.

Time is always short, and there is never enough of it. This is something I learned with age. However, it was suddenly in my grasp at that moment of absolute unconsciousness. My mind released every inkling of fighting and struggling. Of course, as with all luxuries, this was torn from me after I broke the waters of rest.

I found a man at my bedside, stroking my covers as if he desired to share these comforts. But, in all factual sense, this theory was completely impossible. As Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he could request such trivial things and even create them with a flick of his wand.

I was silent and only watched his fingers as they moved gracefully. They were long and quite like a pianist's hands, however these hands served quite a different purpose. It was odd that these fingers had suddenly freed themselves from their prison of control. Usually folded calmly, they rearranged their positions every few seconds, seemingly unsure of where to place themselves.

But then my eyes were abruptly tired of watching this phenomenon, so I raised them to his. Severus Snape noticed this immediately as he always had and probably always would. The change in his ebony orbs was apparent the moment I searched them. Severus' eyes had always been a winding maze of never-ending pathways and passages. They twisted and turned, never once revealing their secrets. In fact, it was usually impossible to discern one feeling from the next, and so in the end, a person must satisfied their curiosity by simply ignoring it.

The evident change was the sudden disappearance of these roads and the emergence of staircases. It seemed that I, Minerva McGonagall, could step upon each flight – each a separate emotion – analyze it completely before stepping onto a new one. The longest staircase seemed to be composed of pain. I could not believe it was a psychical pain, nor did it seem completely emotional pain. It was pain from the deep crevices of the heart. I was shocked by this blatant show of emotions – and such private ones. I then began to feel an enormous urge to wring his neck and demand answers as to_ why_ such feelings were collecting behind his eyes.

Instead of such crude mannerisms, I simply asked very softly, "What's happened, Severus?"

He gazed into my eyes, obviously trying to seem calm, "Minerva..."

"What has happened, Severus?" I repeated, louder now.

"Potter went into the Department of Mysteries," Severus muttered.

"What?" I said, more breathing the word than anything. "_Why_?"

"He had a dream, delivered by the Dark Lord himself, that Black was there. Kidnapped, actually."

"And was he?" I asked, shocked.

Severus sighed heavily.

"Was he, Severus?"

"No."

"And so," I realized my hands were shaking, "he went in there alone–"

I was cut off abruptly. "Not alone. He took five others: Longbottom, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Granger, and Lovegood."

"You mean," I continued my summarization, "six students ventured into the Department of Mysteries. How did they get there?"

"Theastrals," he answered, quite matter-of-fact.

I shook my head. "Theastrals! But Severus, what _happened_? Why are you so grave?"

He continued his story, "I alerted Order members. They went to his rescue. Albus told Black to stay where he was, but..."

I swallowed, remembering Sirius' younger days. Never before had he listen to anyone. Albus was a fool for thinking the man would listen now.

"I take it he didn't," I said. The words came out sharper than I had intended.

"Of course not. He went to join them. And then he met Bellatrix. A-and he fought her..."

"And?" I pressed.

"And she killed him."

The words were blunt and to the point. They flew at me, but I barely believed them. Finally, they hit me with sharp points and I immediately fell against the fluffy pillows directly behind me. The world seemed to be spinning and my mind didn't comprehend the reason for my fear and pain. At last, incredulous words spilled from my lips.

"He's dead? Truly dead, Severus?" The man simply nodded.

"How's Harry?" I asked, my mind immediately flicking to my young student. My heart wrenched as I thought of him. I knew that finding Sirius had been one of the highest points in Harry's life. Sirius had been a mentor, a friend, and a cause for happiness. Letting him go two years ago had been hard enough. Letting him go forever would be even harder.

"I haven't seen Potter. I imagine he's quite distraught." Severus was desperately trying to be condescending, but the poison that usually occupied his words was missing. I did not question him further on this topic. I moved onto, perhaps, an even more sensitive one.

"And yourself?"

"Me?" Severus snorted. "What could be plaguing me?"

I spoke my next words in a cautious tone, but I was not too soft, for the best way to gain information from Severus Snape is to anger him.

"I only asked because I know you never quite reconciled with him. I do recall a certain kitchen accident where your wands were at each other's throats! Perhaps that would be plaguing you."

I smiled humorously at the anecdote, hoping his smile would be mirthful.

Severus scowled darkly at me, instead.

"I apologize, Severus," I said, resigned, "it wasn't my place..."

"No," he replied brazenly, "it wasn't."

"What was it like?" I questioned, changing the topic, but also catering to my curiosity. It was a strange question, considered all that he had told me. I knew the essentials: the murderer, the place of the death, and the way that the death had occurred. But these seemed to be the large strokes on a painted canvas. Now I had to fill in the details, particulars which I did not possess.

"Minerva?"

"What I mean to say is..." But even I didn't know what needed to be said. I was confused by my own emotions, and my words could not express them in any way, eloquently or not.

The Potions Master checked the time on his golden pocket watch. His brow furrowed, but he looked at me politely.

"Yes, Minerva?"

My tone was of exasperation, "I don't know. I just – I haven't got any idea."

His lips shifted quirkily at me. I was quite surprised that after such a tragedy he could still carry his satirical side. After all, our recent exchange of dialogue had exposed him rather nakedly. Severus, too, was grieving.

"If you are finished...?" He posed the question in a cultured manner.

"Yes, Severus."

"Then I must be off. I am needed at Hogwarts."

"Yes, I you are. Oh, before you go, who was present at the incident?"

Severus raised an eyebrow at me.

"You mustn't dwell too heavily upon this, Minerva. It is cause for grievances, even I have to admit that, but there are other matters at stake here. The first, as you well know, is your health. And after that there are other things."

He did not explain what he meant by this last sentence, and so I automatically assumed that he was speaking of Order-related duties.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" he asked grumpily, seemingly annoyed at the fact that his speech had not diverted my mind.

"Who was present from our side?"

Severus sighed, gave me a patronizing look, and began reciting names, "Shacklebolt, Tonks, Lupin–"

"Lupin?"

"Yes, Remus Lupin," he replied. He turned slightly, but I could still see the confusion in his features.

"Will he – do you think he'll visit Grimmauld soon?"

"I'm sure. Why?"

"I just thought that..." I shifted my shoulder uncomfortably. Severus rose and fixed my pillow before turning to face me with another displeased look.

"Minerva, now I really must go. What is it? Would you like me to send him in?"

"Oh no!" I cried out, appalled by the suggestion. I knew that Remus would have his own sadness. Not only that, but he would be quite busy as well. Plans were probably being formed. The entire force of the Order would be geared toward fighting this new war.

"Then...?"

"Severus. C-could you ask him for a memory of that night? Although, tell him it can wait. After all, I have no pensieve here."

"You want a memory of it?" Severus asked incredulously. There was a suspicious glint in his eye.

"He was once my student–"

"I know," he said dryly.

"And he was in my House. He was a good boy." Severus scoffed at this. "Well, maybe he wasn't a good boy, but close to my heart. He was the prankster who caused the staff to laugh. I need to see it. I don't know why. It's just an urge I have. I don't even know if you would know what it feels like. I'm being propelled towards this."

He put up his hand before my spiel continued further.

"I will get the memory for you, Minerva. Now rest. Merlin knows you need it. I shall see you soon I trust."

He swept away in his long black robes, careless as ever. I was again surprised by his nonchalance. But in the end I ignored this as one always has to do, and laid my head upon my pillow, nursing the pain that Severus' news had brought me.


	2. Chapter 2

_Special thanks to my betas- Kim and Rosie._

The next day had come and was now finally close to passing. My health was better, and I was feeling much stronger. But with this improvement, frustration had set in. Even my usual pastime of reading seemed tired and truly boring. I was yearning for a spry conversation with Filius or another Quidditch quarrel with Severus. Even speaking with students would suffice. It was funny how common things often held the most charm in one's life.

Sighing, I opened the book that had been lying upon my bedside: _Simple Teaching Exercises for the Transfiguration Teacher_. It had been brought by the kindly nurse after I expressed my utter boredom and aggravation at my current situation. Though I missed Poppy, she was, of course, very thoughtful to try and help me, and I appreciated this greatly. However, the tricks and suggestions in the book were the sort that I had naturally learned after many years of teaching. The book was nothing compared to my resources at Hogwarts. There I would find challenging and innovative texts, designed to broaden a person's horizons.

_The Transfiguration exercises that you present to your students must be foundational in the beginning of a students' learning track. They must begin with inanimate objects and work up to more complex transfigurations, else complications will arise. Beginning at too high of a level will create the problem of students being absolutely imbalanced. They will be perfectly competent in one specific transfiguration, but not in any other._

I scoffed slightly as I reached the end of the paragraph, and flipped through the rest of the chapter. Nothing caught my eye. Though all ideas were true, and quite practical, they were not complex enough. It was certainly 'simple'. I turned the book over to check the author's name. As I did so, I shook my head and clicked my tongue in exasperation over the poor quality of the work. I was still irritated over this, and I never could help but be disdainful when the art of Transfiguration was compromised in any way.

"Not suitable enough for you, Minerva?" a voice questioned. It sounded amused, but also disheartened. I looked up, bemused. My "plans"- sitting in bed- did not include visitors.

"Remus? What on earth are you doing here?" I asked, finally recognizing the figure in my door. I began to rise up slightly so that I could see his face properly. It was still slightly hidden in the shadows.

"Minerva McGonagall, get down. You're still not well." He said this striding into the room. His voice appeared to be the same as before, except there now a hollow tone. One note was missing. It was the same note that had materialized when Sirius' innocence had finally been recognized by Harry.

I rolled my eyes, "Who are you to tell me such things? And you still haven't answered my question!"

"Tonks is here too, so I figured-"

"Nymphadora is here?" I asked, worried.

"She'll be fine, she really will. I simply came by to drop off a few things and sit with her for a bit. She's getting restless; apparently in the same way you are. But don't worry; you were in much worse condition. Now, Severus told me about you and your request- the memory, I mean-, so I thought I would visit you too."

I was first surprised by the strength in his voice; it did not quiver or shake at all. The fire in his eyes was still burning, and as I watched it, I was sure it had grown. I couldn't help but smile slightly at who Remus Lupin had become. All his old, good qualities had stayed with him, while embraced all improvements he could make.

I sighed, thinking of Sirius and his luster for life. The two had been different and such good friends. But the fact remained that Remus and his good reminded me of Sirius.

"I'm glad," I told him, "that you came. Ever since Severus visited I've been dying for another conversationalist. It was refreshing to speak to someone."

"Even though he brought terrible news," Remus said gravely. I saw, then, the fires die slowly. An icy wind of sadness hit. It tackled the flames, whipping through them, finally forcing them to back down against its immense power. He was fighting grief, obviously.

"Yes, terrible news."

Remus looked down, his face somber. His hardships were suddenly visible in his expression and I could hardly bear to see them. I knew, however, that this was a privilege, seeing this weakness, this pain. So I studied him, hoping to unveil his emotions as much as I could.

He looked tired and old. In fact, he seemed almost as old as me. Remus had always looked slightly shabby, mostly because of his employment difficulties, but he usually wore it well, and his personality overthrew such trivial things.

Now his personality failed to eclipse his appearance, and it was now made a vital part of his overall impression. The hope which straightened him and cultivated his soft side had disappeared. Cracks in his voice were barely noticeable, but now as he spoke more I heard them. They, along with the hollowness that I _had_ detected previously, betrayed him.

"Why do you need such a memory, Minerva? Why do you want to experience that pain?" he questioned.

I knew then what the answer was: understanding. The constant thirst for knowledge that had served me well in my school years, was haunting me now, scratching at me and asking _how_ my former student had died. I needed the answers so it could piece together the incident, comprehend it, and perhaps believe it.

I gazed at him for a moment and the uttered the word: "Unexplainable."

Remus stared at me. It was either in utter shock or confusion, but I didn't attempt to decide which. My chosen word had been the oddest thing to say at that particular moment. Lying would've been better but there was no like that would have sufficed. And so my answer was the perfect response. Answering is this way was simply pulling him in circles like a stupid horse, and never really answering.

"Yes, perhaps it is," he murmured. I wondered whether he himself was pondering about unexplainable things, perhaps like fate. After all, it seemed that Remus' entire life had been completely shaped by the concept of fate. It was fate that had brought him a werewolf's bite.

"I've brought your memory. I came to ask you not to take it. But maybe it's best that you do. I just wanted to spare you from seeing a man who flew like a rock." he said in a soft, yet firm, voice.

"Flew like a rock?"

"Yes." Now he smiled ruefully, "It's the only way I can describe this, this death. _This murder_. Sirius was…graceful and smooth as he fell. Like flying. He dipped slightly, poetically, but then at the very end the only thing that mattered was that he fell. In that case, like a stone."

"Remus…"

"It was almost like when you skip stones and see beautiful ripples, but the stone sinks anyway."

The words held a great amount of sentiment, and I waited for him to continue, rather than interrupting.

"As I said, impossible to describe, but I do have the memory." This was said in such a brusque manner that I was reminded of myself.

Remus pulled a small vial from his robes. He uncorked, but then looked back at me uncertainly once more, as if for confirmation that this was my choice. I inclined my head slightly. He sent me a half-smile, and brought his wand to his temple. After a moment, he drew it away. Attached and still following was a silvery strand. It was a sight that I had watched before, usually with Albus, and I felt no feeling except for a certain excitement as the container was held out to me.

As I was reaching out, the vial turned slightly, catching the clear light from the window. Oddly, I was entranced by the light's game, but quickly the game turned too poignant. A mournful melody was soundlessly erupting from the tiny object of glass, pounding through my body, especially towards my chest. This, I knew, was because of the feeling behind it; the loss that was haunting Remus.

I reached further, now also attempting to stop the painful notes that twisted my own moods. Our skin touched as the vial passed hands. Then all was gone. The terrible song completed its last measures and I was left amazed by the fact that I could hold something so weighted in the palm of my hand.

"Remus, this was thoughtful. Thank you." I did not feel that informing him of my inability to watch the memory was necessary. After all, bothering him with woes about Pensieves was a worthless notion.

"But," Remus interjected kindly.

"But I'll have to wait to view the memory," I said, as briefly as I could. Still, I would not elaborate on my troubles.

"And why would that be?"

"I haven't got a pensieve," I grudgingly told him.

"You do," he said, smiling. Remus stood and began to walk towards the door, as if he was leaving. I was quite confused by the actions, but I ignored all of this, and attempted to act normally. It was a habit from my years of teaching, another technique that _Simple Teaching Exercises for the Transfiguration Teacher_ could not teach me. The best way to deal with not knowing or understanding knowledge was pretending to at least know the gist of it. After many uses of the method you could graduate to feigning that you actually knew about every move that was about to be made. I forced myself, though, to drop the façade. Remus was not a child, and today he had done a lot for me. Being haughty or condescending to him was more disrespectful than usual.

Remus returned with a large carpetbag. He set it down upon the bed, and then gestured invitingly at it. I heaved myself upwards and then grasped the bag, finally pulling out the rather small object from it. It was heavy as it sat in my hand, and it seemed made of stone. Puzzled, I turned to him.

"Is this a pensieve, Remus?" It certainly seemed to be so, though a miniature version. It was made of the same stone and the same runes and markings covered the rim of it.

He nodded and pointed his wand towards my hands.

"_Engorgio_."

I was forced to let my hands be pushed apart, as the stone bowl grew much larger. I gawked at it. It was ridiculous of me to do so, but there had been such an onslaught of emotions during this visit, that I was weary. I couldn't truly comprehend the fact that Remus had brought me a memory, a pensieve, and a bit of conversation. To find this memory, Remus had searching his mind and watched it again before pulling it out. And this was so good of him, that I felt worse about myself, about asking him to do such a thing.

"So, I suppose you can watch the memories now?" he asked in a tentative manner. I supposed it was because of my odd reaction- actually, I hadn't responded at all.

"Yes, yes…thank you so much. Truly."

"Don't mention it, Minerva." I suppose he saw me fingering the pensieve, because his next words were: "Shall I leave you to it then?"

"No, no," I protested, "please stay."

"I doubt that you really want me to. I know that you've been waiting to see the memory, and now you have the chance. Don't worry, you're not being rude."

"Well, then, I'll see you soon, Remus."

"Yes, I daresay you will. Get better, won't you, Minerva?"

"I'll do my best," I answered him. He nodded and patted my hand.

"Oh!" There was a sudden exclamation when he was in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"The pensieve is Dumbledore's. He figured you could use it. However, he has a few things to sort out, and therefore he needs it back tomorrow. He's asked me to tell you that he'll be in tomorrow anyway, just to check in."

I nodded, my hands already busy with spilling the shimmering memory into the rock bowl.


End file.
